Take Me To Church
by MasterSatanOverlord
Summary: Athelstan suddenly finds himself in unfamiliar territory and must find a way to survive and find his way back home. To Kattegat, to Ragnar. Rated T for the explicit murder of a fish and male on male action.


Alright. So I was listening to Take Me To Church by Hosier and thought, 'Oh. My gosh. This is so totally like Ragnar and Athelstan though. What the shit?' And thus this story was born! I am 98 percent certain this is going to remain a one shot. Meaning it might get long. I'm mostly writing this as I go, as I do with all my stories because I don't believe in planning, so I have no idea where this is going, but it's probably going to have nothing to do with the song. Oh! For clarification, you know that period of time while Bjorn is growing up that we kinda skip over and don't see anything about? Yah, that's when this is taking place, oh and we're ignoring Aslaug's existence for this, other than that it follows canon I guess.

WARNINGS! Fish death, like explicitly, via ripping off the heads of the poor scaly friends. Also very slight mentions of malexmale. There's a kiss and if you really squint implications of more. So be warned of that before you read this.

Athelstan stood, brushing the dirt from his knees as he straightened himself out after his evening prayer. He had begun to do so later and later in the evening, once the rest of Kattegat was asleep. He had given up his religion in word and mind, but never in heart. He, much like one viking king, Ragnar Lodbrok, was very much in question as to the truth of humanity's beginning. Who truly knew if a deity even existed? None had proof, though the same was also true of the opposing viewpoint, none had proof that there was no , despite his continued prayer, had no belief in a higher power. He had never received any sort of sign to truly believe and even during his time as a monk he had found himself riddled with doubt. And now, as he put out his candle and set himself into bed, especially he was unsure. Due to his strange friendship with the viking explaining religion to each other, teaching the rituals and the language, the culture of the norsemen, the culture of the Christians, he had learned of their gods and found himself wanting to believe. To believe in this impossibility that some higher power was out there and looking down on his friend. He had found himself praying to these gods too, but differently. He didn't carve out a piece of time and think about doing it. He would do it in the heat of the moment, as the blade in his hand was in a downward arc, he would pray that it didn't miss its mark, pray to keep his life for another day. It had begun without Athelstan even realizing, it was as natural as breathing to him. It felt right, though he hadn't thought that praying to the Christian god was wrong, it had never filled him with this sense of correctness, this gentle warmth that seemed to consume him inside out as he whispered in his mind for the help of Thor or Odin. This only served to confuse Athelstan further. Were these gods real? Did they exist? Or did it seem so because his people, the people of Wessex, had been converted to Christianity from this same religion and his blood was calling for its native beliefs? Though Athelstan wished, and even on occasion, prayed for an answer, none came. Not from Christianity and not from Odin. Sighing, the Christian turned viking rolled onto his side and allows his eyes to slip shut, soothing the burn from being awake too long as he falls into a slumber.

When Athelstan awakens, he notices something. Something different. He is no longer in his bed full of animal skins and furs, he looks around almost wildly, trying to place his location. There is nothing here that is familiar to him, just an earthen ground and stone walls surrounding three sides of the small enclosed space. A little cave with a wide entrance through which Athelstan could see a vividly blue sky, interrupted only by the dark green jagged lines of trees and the gentle slope of bright white from a mountain's summit. This was no mountain Athelstan knew, there was no way of knowing where he was or how he got there, so he did the most logical thing he could. He lifted himself from the soft earth, brushing the rich soil from the bare skin of his chest, back, and arms and from the dark fabric enshrouding his legs. There is nothing in the cave besides himself so after another short glance around, Athelstan walks out into the unforgiving sun, the rays dancing along his lightly tanned skin as he searches the surrounding clearing for signs of anything, anyone. But to no avail. Sighing, the viking pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as he thinks about what to do. "I suppose it cannot be helped," Athelstan says to himself as he makes his way to the edge of the clearing. The only way he would learn anything was by moving, so move he did. He began his journey through the trees, treading lightly and being cautious of his surroundings. He might be decently skilled in battle, but he had no weapon and was in unfamiliar territory so he was at a major disadvantage. The sun was still low in the sky and the air still held a faint bite of early autumnal frost, it was still early in the morning. The monk began his journey weaving through the trees that had thickened and keeping an eye out, for predator and food alike, he did not like to be caught off guard and the sudden transportation had not started him off in a pleasant mood. As he made his way through trees, he let his mind wander, to muse about life and religion and love and loyalty. What was truly the purpose of humanity? All man kind had seemed able to do was destroy this earth with their own creations and annihilate one another, there seemed no greater good than that. And what was the gods' plan, if they truly did exist? Why did they create such a destructive force? And why did these different religions exist? Why did these gods, who supposedly cared so much about man, allow brother to slaughter brother because of a difference in thought? Why not show themselves, prove that they are the absolute? Why was it some gods, Athelstan thought bitterly of the Christian deity, were so against love? Was a god even bothered with who you decide to have sex with? And if so, why? What does a deity gain from despising their own people because of a sexual preference? If god really was man's creation, as Athelstan had begun to believe, then it must just be humanity pushing their own hatred and selling the idea by saying that this idea of two men or two women was vile and dirty and wrong. Athelstan paused, in thought and body. Why did this bother him so much? As he wondered that to himself, there was a flash of Ragnar in his mind and he shook his head quickly, dismissing the idea. No, Ragnar was a friend. A great friend, his closest friend. Athelstan was loyal to the man who had spared his life and took him in, the man who taught him so much and in turn listened so well. He was indebted to this man, the King of Kattegat, his former master, his friend. It was entirely impossible to harbor such feelings for this man. He paused again. Was it though? It would make sense. Despite his upbringing telling him that such emotion was a sin, he had always known that he found men much more interesting than women. Athelstan had never truly considered his own preferences, what he liked or disliked. He never stopped to wonder about love or his future, though he could never see himself marrying a woman or having children. Do I really have feelings for the great king of Kattegat, Ragnar Lodbrok? He wondered to himself.

A loud noise suddenly interrupted his thoughts and he jerks around to see what it was. His search proved fruitless as his dark brown gaze darted around and found only the thickly condensed trees and some fog that clung to his skin, prickling it and turning to water that had begun to drip down his body and soak into the waistband of his pants. When had that happened? Athelstan thought to himself. Was I really that out of it? Deciding to abandon his thoughts so that he could focus, Athelstan continues along the nonexistent path, carving out a trail as he pushed his way into the forest. This didn't seem to be leading anywhere, but there would be no point in going back. The sun had already arced higher into the sky, near the midpoint, and all turning back would accomplish is lost time. So instead, the viking trudged forward and soon he heard the quietest bubbling of a stream, the water in the distance. Athelstan moved a bit faster, moving toward the stream, from there he would be able to follow the flow of water and easily find others living in this area. Soon, he came to the running liquid carving out a path in the ground and he sighed, kneeling in the slightly muddied ground he cups some water in his hands and splashes it against the slightly heated flesh of his face, once, twice, before dragging his hands down, wiping off as much of the cool liquid as he could. He lets the near-frigid water pool into his hands again and once more brings it to his face, to his mouth. He took in the water happily, thankfully, letting it cool and wet his mouth before he stood once more. He was downstream so he began to walk forward, toward the source of the water flowing along this current. Finding dry footing along the riverbed was difficult so Athelstan had given up, he didn't want to walk too far off and lose the flowing water so he instead opted to trudge along, sometimes dragging his legs through the mud when it got too deep to lift his feet. He didn't mind, he could clean his pants later or get new ones. Hours passed and still he found nothing, around midday he had paused in his efforts to eat the berries from a nearby bush. He decided that a fire would waste the precious time he could be using to continue his journey and so kept to the small meal that the bush could provide.

The sun began to set however so Athelstan stepped a few paces away from the stream, further into the surrounding woods to pick up smaller pieces of dead trees, dry so he could begin a fire. Autumn was in the air and the nights were bitterly cold without the animal skins or even a shirt. Athelstan piled the wood and managed to start a small fire that then began to quickly spread over the dead wood once that was complete he steps back, moving back to the darkening water hoping to perhaps catch a fish. He was lucky there seemed to be few predators in the area and so hoped there would be plenty of fish in the water. He had no weapons, but he could use his hands. It would be much more difficult, but he had done it before so he was sure he would be able to tonight. By the time the sun was completely concealed beneath the horizon and the sky had darkened to a pitch black with only twinkling lights strewn throughout the inky backdrop Athelstan had succeeded in catching three fish and had managed to skewer them on a stick. He was now sitting beside the fire, holding the fish just above the flames out of reach of the seemingly hungry blaze that was licking upward toward the flesh of the meal Athelstan was teasing the smoldering inferno with. The viking was continuously rotating the fish to avoid charring the precious sustenance, when he was sure it was warmed through and no longer raw he set the stick aside, ripping off small chunks at a time to consume the meat of the underwater creature. He left an entire fish for the morning. Laying on his back, he looked up at the stars as he fell asleep beside the fire, thinking about how strange today had been. He had awoken in an unknown place and walked for an entire day but he came to nothing. Sighing quietly, he didn't bother praying to the Christian god that night, he instead sent out one silent request to whomever was there. To please allow him back home, back to Kattegat. To Ragnar.

Athelstan awoke in the morning, not because of the brightness of the sun glaring into his eyes, but because of the cold. The sky was a milky blue, just barely morning, the sun not yet having painted the sky with gold. Sometime in the night his fire had gone out, burning through all the available wood and being unable to spread through the dirt on the ground, leaving behind nothing but charred remains. The last bit of fish was still there where he had left it and so he lifted it from its place and brought it to his mouth, eating the flesh of the animal slowly as to not make himself sick. Once he was done eating, he made his way to the stream, rinsing his hands and face in the icy water before gulping some down. The sky was now colored pink and orange as the man commenced his walking for the day. Athelstan noticed the further he walked along the stream the darker the forest beside him seemed, like fog began to cling to the silky darkness and the overwhelming sense of danger lurking within the trees that was so strong it caused the viking to shudder and move his legs faster, hoping to be past the worst of the large thicket by nightfall. Athelstan alternated between gazing hopefully at the horizon and glancing warily at the trees only a meter away from where he was plodding along the riverside. His muscles were a bit sore from working them all of the previous day and continuing the repetitive motions today was not going to help the stiffness in his joints, though it wasn't hard work or even particularly strenuous, it was repetitive and continuous. Listening to the rush of the river beside him and feeling the cool air on his skin was refreshing and soothing, but the aura permeating the air from the forest was setting his nerves on end, negating any positive sensations he might have been picking up on and filling him with a sense of dread. Something he hadn't felt for years, since the first day he had met Ragnar Lodbrok.

The instant he thought the man's name, his nerves were calmed as he began to think. What would Ragnar do in this situation? He, too, would probably follow this river, but of course the man was an enigma. He was constantly surprising everyone with the choices he made, whether they pertained to battlefield strategy or how he came to handle people. Ragnar seemed to constantly contradict himself, hard and cold in battle but with a sort of mirth shining in those blue eyes as he brought men to their knees before him. Warm and soft while handling his children, and now that both Bjorn and Gyda were gone, speaking with his friends and the children of Kattegat while his eyes were steely, so different from his gentle expressions and tender words. As though while battling he was thinking of those he was fighting for and when with the ones he loved he was unable to stop thinking of the things he had done to be there in that moment. His eye changing fluidly from blue to grey to blue once more. His face, whether broke in a humorless smile or scowling playfully, never seemed to give anything away. All of his thoughts hidden beneath that ever changing mask. A sudden howl cut through Athelstan's thoughts and he whipped his head toward the noise. It was behind him and seemed to be far enough away but he began to jog anyway, just because there was distance between himself and the wolf didn't mean there weren't others nearby. He tried to breathe steadily as he pushed his body just a bit harder, moving faster to pass the eerie section of trees quicker while simultaneously creating distance between himself and where the wolf had called from.

After what felt like hours of running, sweat trickling down his toned, tan body, Athelstan slowed his pace back to a walk. He had heard nothing more from the wolf and so decided that he was probably safe for the time being. He stopped to drink deeply from the river, his lungs were burning weakly, his breaths coming in short gasps, and his mouth was dry. Once his chest had ceased the harsh heaving and the air was passing leisurely to and from his lungs Athelstan rose from the ground moving much slower than before. Walking almost lazily alongside the meandering water in as straight a line as possible to conserve all the energy he could, he had run as fast as he could earlier and had only the energy supplied by a small fish. The sky was a bright cyan, the sun seemed oddly close to the earth making it strangely warm for the autumn. Athelstan's stomach was empty and he had already decided to repeat his routine from yesterday, eating available berries now and catching some fish before the sun sank once more behind the horizon. Plucking some of the sun ripened fruit from the thorny bushes, Athelstan had managed to prick his thumb on one of the sharp barbs. He winces just a bit at the unexpected discomfort as he pulls his hand back and sees a drop of blood streaming down the palm of his hand and dripping off his wrist. He stares at the ruby liquid in a stunned silence for a moment before putting the pad of his thumb in his mouth and sucking gently, cleaning the surprisingly deep wound of excess blood before examining it a bit closer with furrowed brows. The thorn had not stuck in the wound, but it did slice the flesh much more deeply than was normal. He shrugs it off and snatches the berries he had been reaching for and leaving the offending bush be. Athelstan eats the fruit one by one, savoring the sweet juice and the soft flesh. Once all of the berries were gone, the viking cleans his hands in the stream, washing away the blood and stickiness from his fingers and palms, though the juice was gone there remained a faint purplish stain across some of his fingers where the berries pigmentation had colored his skin. The viking decided that the cut wasn't serious enough to warrant any sort of makeshift bandaging so he left it be, it throbbed dully occasionally but not to the point of becoming a hindrance.

The sun seemed to begin its descent much earlier on this second day than the day before and Athelstan was glad to be past the ghostly part of the woods, he was barely comfortable walking along its edge he wasn't sure hed be able to venture inside to gather wood for a fire. He walked into the much more inviting space and rounded up just a bit more wood than he had the night before, hoping to make the fuel last until morning. After finding a space not far from the rushing water and setting up his wood, he hoped the material was dry enough. He had gathered the most suitable timber he could and yet, most of it was damp likely because of the fog that had permeated the air. As he began his attempts to force the lumber into submission the sun started to dip just below the ground. Athelstan gritted his teeth and tried once more, the material sparked and a small fire had started. He grinned, glad he'd have some heat leaving the fire to burn and grow he made his way to the river. Wading his way into the chilly river, he stands in the liquid up to his hips and stayed as still as possible. The current wasn't too strong here so he was able to stand easily and without fear of being pulled under if he tripped, the bottom of the river was covered in mud that squished between his toes and small pebbles that dug into the flesh of his feet. He saw the faint shimmer of light against the scales of a fish swimming towards him and he quickly thrust out a hand, his fingers slipping along its slick body but catching on the base of its tail where it began to widen again. Lifting his catch from its habitat, he tightens his hold on it so it doesn't slide out of his hold. Lifting his unoccupied hand to its head, he quickly jabs two fingers under the gill plate, pushing past the gills and tugging sharply just about disconnecting the head from the body. Tossing the fish onto the riverbank, he readies himself for another aquatic animal to swim unsuspectingly by. The viking lands two more, both larger than the first which was about 20 centimeters long. After cleaning their bodies of the dirt that clung to damp carcasses, Athelstan made his way back to the smoking pile of wood that he left behind. The fire had sputtered out and he groaned, quickly fixing the bodies of the fish onto a long stick before attempting to reignite the flames. He tried well past the time the sun sunk below the horizon well past the time that velvety blackness encompassed the world. Athelstan could no longer see, the moon was gone from the sky and the stars were hiding behind clouds. Sighing, he gave up and ate the fish as it was, raw and cold. Once again, he falls asleep gazing at the sky and asking why.

It wasn't the howl of a wolf or the freezing cold that woke Athelstan on this morning. It was the soft morning light, filtering through the clouds and gently caressing his face that caused his eyes to blink open. He almost recoiled in shock when he recognised where he was, he sat up quickly a couple of furs fall from his chest into his lap as he looks around wildly. This… This was home. Kattegat. He jumps out of the warmth and notices that his legs are bare though his manhood was covered with trousers. Quickly, he dresses himself before rushing out of the room that Ragnar had graciously given him to stay in for as long as the stormy eyed man remained ruler of Kattegat. Shoving open the door, Athelstan manages to startle the slave girl walking past but he pays her no mind as he rushes into the room the king of vikings sleeps in. Without a thought, he jumped atop the lump in the bed where the blue eyed man slept, awakening the viking without a care as he wrapped his arms around the man. With the impact of the brunet's body colliding with his own, Ragnar jerked up into a sitting position, forcing the younger man to become seated in his lap if he wanted to keep his arms tightened around the king's neck.

Ragnar looked down, surprised to see the dark haired man clinging to him while sprawled across his lap. Athelstan was never one to quickly resort to physical expressions of his emotion, whether affection or anger, and so feeling the arms wrapped around him and the chest, heaving with heavy breaths, pressed against his own as those quick coming gasps brushed heatedly along his tanned neck. Ragnar lifted his hands from his sides and wrapped them around his friend's waist, pulling the smaller man a bit closer against himself. Keeping one arm around the man, he reaches the other up to curl into the loose waves of Athelstan's hair which was not tied back as it usually was. Ragnar sighs softly against the dark tendrils tickling at his nose, "Why are you here Athelstan?" he asks quietly as he leans in closer, his lips almost brushing against the tanned skin just at the edge of his jaw, below his ear. Athelstan jerks his head up, a shudder running down his spine as he edges off the man's lap.

"I… I'm sorry." He says as looks up sheepishly at the king, noticing the hurt on his face, the pain that seems so foreign on the king's face. "Ragnar..?" The older man just turns his head to the side, keeping his blue eyes off the man who had made a sudden reappearance.

"What's wrong Athelstan?" Ragnar asks gently, his thumb rubbing gently across the back of Athelstan's hip through his clothing.

"I just… missed you..?" Athelstan asks, unsure himself why he was acting like this. It had only been two days, right? So then why did he feel like it had been so long since he had last seen Ragnar.

Ragnar lets out a breathy chuckle and just pulls Athelstan closer, pressing his lips gently to the skin just under the younger man's jaw. "I missed you too?" The viking king asks right back.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time..." Athelstan says, pulling back a little to look into those intense steely blue eyes. He takes the man's face between his palms and doesn't even think, he does the only thing that feels right to him, he leans forward and presses their lips together.

* * *

Freyja smiles as the two men come together, glad that she had pushed that dream into the monk's head as he slept so peacefully. Yes, she should meddle in these affairs more often.

So, yeah… This is a thing I made. I wasn't really sure how to show that this was Freyja's doing and I wasn't really sure how I wanted to have it all work out, so I guess this works. This was a one shot, so this is the end. Thank you for reading! Any comments or complaints are completely welcome, unless it's flame for the pairing, because really? Come on.


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